


Nightmares And A Sweet Dream

by Crossover_Chick



Series: Forgotten Vows AUs [2]
Category: American McGee's Alice, Corpse Bride (2005)
Genre: Background Relationships, Character Death In Dream, Creepy, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, It's Valice but the Valice isn't the point of it yet, Nightmares, Strangulation, both of the 'oh no' kind and the 'woo yes' kind, just general sad and awful, no seriously how Victor thinks of Thirteen is, yeaaaaah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 12:39:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11623725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crossover_Chick/pseuds/Crossover_Chick
Summary: Another "before the verse really became a verse" AU set of shorts from my RPing days, although ones a lot closer to canon this time. Two nightmares Victor had about Bumby's influence over him, and one sweet dream he had after defeating that influence. For those wanting a sneak peek at the ideas that helped inspire the upcoming "Fixing You," these are your fics.





	1. Nightmare The First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First up, a nightmare involving a painful what-if -- "what if Victor hadn't come back to himself in Moorgate Station?" I imagine the idea that, if he hadn't recognized her eyes, he could have killed his beloved and best friend, has led to more than one sleepless night for poor Victor. And hell, probably Alice too. Maybe one day I'll do a perspective flip nightmare regarding her view. . . If you want to consider this particular dream canon, feel free.

“. . .And wake.”  
  
Victor blinked as he came back to himself. His head felt fuzzy, like it was filled with felt. He rubbed his temple and looked around. _What – where am I? What am I doing here? The last thing I remember, I was – I was. . . ._  
__  
Bumby.  
  
The thought was like having ice water poured through his veins. He’d found that horrible ledger, and then Bumby had caught him, and then – well, then it got a little blurry, but he remembered pain and terror ( _“You don’t deserve a name. . .”_ ), and then – blank, until now. Oh God, what had happened? What had he –  
  
And then his eyes found the body lying at his feet.  
  
The very familiar body.  
  
Horrified, he dropped to his knees. Alice was lying at an odd angle on the platform, black hair fanned around her and limbs splayed. Her eyes were open but unseeing, chest still. And her neck – her neck was a mass of ugly dark bruises where it had been squeezed. Bruises in the shape of – of – of his. . . .  
  
His eyes shot to his trembling hands. They were bruised and scratched, and his fingers ached like someone had been pulling at them as they – _no. Nononononono. . . ._  
  
A hand lightly squeezed his shoulder. “She was crying at the end, you know,” Bumby’s honey-filled voice whispered in his ear. “Crying and begging you to remember her, even as she tried to break your fingers to free your grip. But you were stronger than her, and you just kept squeezing and squeezing. . . .”  
  
His entire body was shaking now, as he stared at Alice’s too limp, too still body. Now he thought he could remember her screaming – _“You bastard, wake up! Fight him off! You’re stronger than. . .this, I know you are! Don’t make me hurt you! Damn it, wake up! . . .please, Victor, don’t leave me too. . .don’t do this, you’re. . .y-you’re hurting me. . . .”_ And the look of rage, pain, _terror_ in her eyes. . . . He leaned over her body, searching desperately for some spark of life, something to make it so she wasn’t – he hadn’t –  
  
“Oh, she’s quite dead,” Bumby assured him. “You did a very good job of strangling her. I knew those long fingers had to be good for something.” He chuckled. “We’ll have to dispose of the body, of course.”  
  
Victor shook his head. “No. . . .” He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have. But she was lying there, and his hands still hurt, and everything was getting blurry because of the tears and he’d killed her _oh God he’d KILLED her_ –  
  
“Upset? Poor Master Van Dort,” Bumby said, squeezing his shoulder again. “It must be hard knowing you murdered the woman you love.” He leaned down close to Victor’s ear. “But I can take that all away. You’ll never have to think about it again.” His hand gripped his shoulder tighter, fingers digging into the flesh, and Victor could practically hear his lustful smile. “Never have to think about anything again. **Just be my empty-minded little toy forever.** ”  
  
Victor couldn’t reply. All he could do was stare at Alice’s body, at those bruises – he was a monster, he was a _monster_ – No, it couldn’t be real – no no –  
  
“NO!”  
  
Victor’s eyes snapped open at the sound of his own voice. He sat up and looked around wildly, grasping at his pounding heart. He was – he was in his room. At Houndsditch. He was in his room and it was night and – and it had just been a nightmare. A horrible, terrible nightmare. He leaned forward and pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging himself while trying to get his breathing under control. “He didn’t win,” he whispered to himself. “You didn’t hurt her. She saved you. It was just a dream. Just a dream. . . .”  
  
Even with that, he knew it was unlikely he’d get back to sleep tonight.


	2. Nightmare The Second

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now our second nightmare, and -- whoooo boy. Yeah, this one falls on the NSFW side -- I tried to keep most of it fairly vague, but I think it's pretty clear what's happening, particularly at the end with Bumby. Might have overdone it a bit on the creepy there. *shudder* This story did set up a lot of things that eventually transferred over into the canon proper with "Fixing You" -- Victor's poor reaction to the word "cocksucker," his problem with seeing sex as something only evil people do, his worry that if he wants to have sex with Alice that he's just like Bumby and maybe wanted what Bumby did to him, an idea of what some of Bumby's "training" included. . .and, of course, how Victor pictures Thirteen. Why do I write things that spook me, I swear. . . It's all in present tense because I originally wrote it as a starter for an RP thread. As you might imagine, the actual start was Victor waking up screaming.

They’re kissing on his bed when it happens – Alice’s hand slides between them and reaches between his legs. Victor starts and breaks away as her fingers brush the cloth above his – manhood. “What – Alice? What are you doing?”  
  
Alice gives him a rather sly-looking smile. “Hoping you’ll have some fun with me.” She reaches for the area again.  
  
Victor scoots back, staring. “Fun? Alice, you – I thought – I thought we’d w-wait,” he stammers, shocked. “Until we were m-married. I don’t think--”  
  
“You think too much,” Alice tells him, moving closer. “We’re in love, Victor. This is what people in love do. And there’s no one I want to share this with except you.” She leans in and kisses him again. “What’s the harm, really? So long as we’re careful. . . .”  
  
Victor keeps staring. Something’s not right about this. Alice doesn’t seem – herself. Wasn’t she always telling him that she wanted to wait as much as he did? And now she – “Alice? Are you all right?” he asks, moving slowly away.  
  
“I’m fine,” she whispers, voice breathy. “I just _want_ you.” She moves forward on all fours. “I want you inside me,” she continues seductively. “I want you to _defile_ me.”  
  
Okay, whatever is going on, Victor is sure of one thing – this is _not_ Alice. He quickly escapes off the bed, frowning. “S-stay away from me,” he says, holding out a hand.  
  
Not-Alice pouts. “Victor? What’s wrong?” She gets to her feet. “Don’t you want it?”  
  
“No,” Victor says firmly.  
  
Not-Alice smiles, and it’s definitely _not_ an Alice smile. There’s something decidedly sharp-toothed about it. “I think you do,” she says, in what is probably intended to be a seductive tone. To Victor, however, it sounds decidedly creepy. “I think you’ve always wanted it.”  
  
“Stop it!” Victor says, ignoring the sudden tremble in his voice. “Look, whoever you are – and don’t claim you’re Alice, I _know_ you’re not – either l-leave me alone, or at l-least do this with your own face! Don’t drag _her_ into it!”  
  
Not-Alice keeps smiling. “All right then.” Her form suddenly shifts, growing taller and slimmer, clothes darkening and twisting. . . . **“How’s this?”**  
  
Victor gapes. The person standing before him – is _himself_. Only his mouth is filled with sharp, needle-fine teeth, and black strings trail from his elbows, knees, ankles and wrists like he’s a puppet who’s broken free of his master, and – and he has no _eyes_ , the sockets instead filled with and leaking a horrible black _gunk_ – “W-who--” he squeaks out, backing up.  
  
The other him grins and steps forward. **“What’s the matter?”** he asks, and his voice sounds so like and yet so unlike his own. **“I thought you’d recognize your own reflection.”**  
  
“Y-you’re not me,” Victor manages to say, even though he’s started to shake.  
  
“ **Oh yes I am,”** the other him says, reaching out and gripping his shoulder with surprising strength. **“I’m the part of you that’s honest with yourself,** _ **Thirteen**_ **.”**  
  
“My name’s Victor!”  
  
“ **You don’t deserve a name. You know that.”**  
  
“Yes I do! Get away from me!” Victor tries to pull away, tries to escape, but he’s pinned right where he is by other him’s – Thirteen’s – arm. “Let me go!”  
  
Thirteen’s response is to grab his other shoulder and shove him hard against the wall. “ **You wanted it, don’t deny it,”** he says, grinning into Victor’s face. “ **You** _ **liked**_ **him ripping away your will, wiping your memories, making you his little fucktoy. . . .”**  
  
“I did not! S-stop it!” Victor tries to kick, but the strings lash out and bind his legs so he can’t move.  
  
“ **Then why didn’t you fight back? Why did you let him do it?”** Thirteen taunts.  
  
“I did! I did fight back!”  
  
“ **But it wasn’t enough, was it?”** Thirteen releases one shoulder and brushes his fingers along the side of Victor’s face, his fingernails like claws. **“No – you fell. You gave in. You let him take away everything that was bothering you and make you into his worthless little cocksucker.”**  
  
The word still inflames rage in him, but now Victor welcomes the anger, instead of feeling ashamed by it. “I AM NO ONE’S COCKSUCKER!” he screams, and punches Thirteen as hard as he can with his free arm.  
  
To his shock, Thirteen laughs. **“Aren’t you? Hit me again, I can take it,”** he whispers, and it sounds practically _obscene_.  
  
Victor’s too baffled and frightened and rather disgusted to try it. “Just l-leave me alone,” he says quietly. “I didn’t w-want it, I didn’t. . .”  
  
“ **Liar,”** Thirteen says, and suddenly yanks Victor towards him. Victor tries to struggle, to fight back, but suddenly it’s dark and he can’t see and there’s someone’s hand down his pants and they’re forcing their fingers into his NO NO GET THEM OUT _GET THEM OUT_  
  
He can’t even fight back – he’s kneeling now, and he’s staring straight ahead and he can’t do anything else while he’s being _violated ow ow stop please_ except whimper, and then there’s a rough voice in his ear – “You’ll have to take much more later, so you may as well save those sounds for when I can properly enjoy them.” There’s a sharp thrust that makes his body jerk, and he’d cry if he could only he doesn’t seem to be able to. “It’s only what you deserve. It’s all you’re good for – the only life you should know.” Then there’s a soft chuckle. “I’m still hoping to have Alice for pleasure and profit – her body would be the sweetest – but if I can’t get her. . .you’ll make a lovely consolation prize, Thirteen.”


	3. Sweet Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray, you made it! Here's the nice dream that makes everything better! After putting Victor through the wringer, both with his previous nightmares and with the actual thread of fighting through his mind, I decided he deserved a happy dream that showed just how far he'd come. And what better than a version of the Moorgate confrontation scene where everything goes his way? A good mirror to the first nightmare, and a generally satisfying moment for Victor overall, I feel. Hope you do too.

It’s her eyes that do it. Those brilliant green eyes that captivated him from the moment he first saw them. Somehow, they manage to cut straight through the fog Bumby’s put into his brain, the one that tells him that he has to obey, has to forget, has to be Thirteen or otherwise he’s _bad_ and needs to _punished_. Before he even really knows what’s happening, it all comes rushing back to him – every good thing and every bad – and he realizes with a sudden icy chill Bumby’s trying to get him to _murder_ the woman he loves –  
  
“Alice, have you been playing with my toys?”  
  
The rage that bubbles up in him is hotter and more furious than any he’s felt before (not that he has much to compare it to, but details. . . .). He promised to help her, he promised to _protect_ her – and Bumby tried to get him to break his promise in the worst way possible. An extremely rare urge for violence wells up in him, and he spins and slams his fist straight into the doctor’s face. He feels a rush of satisfaction at seeing Bumby stumble back with a bloodied lip. “NO!” he roars at the top of his lungs. “I WON’T HURT HER! YOU WON’T TOUCH HER!”  
  
Bumby looks shocked for a second, then his features darken with anger. “ _Bad boy, Thirteen!_ ” he thunders, storming forward. “ _Very bad boy!_ ”  
  
Something deep inside Victor tells him that he should be cowering away now, the fog rushing back in to wrap around his brain and choke him with the fear of punishment, of darkness and wicked words – but it’s not happening. His head feels clearer than ever, his rage still burning inside of him. Suddenly, he knows Bumby has no power over him anymore. He pulls back his fist and punches the doctor again as he comes near. “Being called a bad boy by you is almost a compliment,” he growls.  
  
Bumby stumbles backward again, looking stunned. Victor can see it in his eyes – things aren’t going according to plan. He can’t help a smile – since when has anything involving Victor Van Dort gone according to plan? “Thirteen--”  
  
“My name is Victor,” Victor snaps, advancing on him. He hasn’t felt this way in a while – confident, powerful, _angry_. He embraces it. “And those children you torture, you pervert, they have names too. You ought to learn them.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter--”  
  
“It does matter.” Victor moves closer, and is pleased to see Bumby move away, backing up to the edge of the train tracks. “I didn’t think a worse monster could exist than Barkis Bittern. I’m horrified that you managed to prove me wrong. The things you’ve done, the lives you’ve ruined. . .you took _everything_ away from those children. And away from Alice. Her home, her family, her _mind_. . .people don’t count as people to you, do they? They’re just things. How you can think like that is beyond me.”  
  
“It’s just business,” Bumby replies, though his scowl is undercut by the note of fear in his voice.  
  
“Don’t even say it’s just business,” Victor says. “Part of it is pleasure. Part of it is the fact you love seeing someone break under your will. That’s more or less what you did to Alice’s sister, isn’t it? Broke her?” He ignores Bumby starting in on Lizzie being a tease. “You are the worst human being I have ever met. And it comforts me to know that, when you die, your victims will be waiting in the afterlife for you, ready to take revenge.”  
  
Bumby glares at him. “When I die? And when do you think that will be, Master Van Dort?”  
  
Victor looks at him, teetering on the very edge of the platform. “Right now,” he whispers, and before Bumby can react, he gives the doctor a good, hard push.  
  
Bumby hangs suspended in the air a moment as he falls – and then the train comes thundering by, smashing into him and whisking his body far from sight. Victor watches it pass. Part of him is horrified by what he’s done. But a much larger part of him cannot bring itself to feel much remorse. That monster could not be allowed to remain in this world. And he’s certain the Land of the Dead will not treat him well.  
  
A tap on his shoulder makes him turn around. Alice stands there, long hair drifting around her shoulders, green eyes bright and clear. “Kill stealer,” she says, but she’s smiling at she says it.  
  
Victor smiles back. “My apologies. May I make up for it by escorting you back to our residence?”  
  
“It’s a start,” Alice says, offering him her arm. He takes it, and together, they leave Moorgate Station and head back into the sunlight.  
  
And in his sleep, Victor smiles and hugs Alice a little tighter.


End file.
